


Calling All Cops and Autobots

by megyal



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Live Free or Die Hard (2007)
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-18
Updated: 2008-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-11 09:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/111167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Matt both end up working together for the government... on robotic suits, of all things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling All Cops and Autobots

**Author's Note:**

> This is an LFDH/Iron Man crossover; if you haven't watched Iron Man, or you're not into it, I don't think it particularly matters, since the majority of the focus is on the Die Hard characters. This is VERY AU, and maybe a little cracked as well. Beta'd by [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/atlantisgrrrl/profile)[**atlantisgrrrl**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/atlantisgrrrl/), [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/deadlybride/profile)[**deadlybride**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/deadlybride/) and [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/crownglass39/profile)[**crownglass39**](http://www.livejournal.com/users/crownglass39/). Dedicated to V. and E.

**Part 1. "Calling all cops and autobots, I hope that you're still there..."**

Matthew Farrell bent low towards the computer he had been set in front of, peering blearily at the smeared screen. He typed a line of code and stared at what he had done, before pressing the backspace key and trying again. There was a man standing behind him, large and in-charge; this man had a submachine gun clutched to his chest. If Matt made any funny moves, this submachine gun would be put to its proper use, and the proper use would be to the back of Matt's head.

Matt liked his head. He liked the shape of it, he really appreciated the hair on it, and he just _loved_ the brains inside it. Moreover, he adored that his brains were currently _inside_ his head, and he had a plan, a very simple plan. That simple plan was to have those brains _remain_ in his head.

Matt thought this was the best plan in the whole wide world.

"I got this last line up and running," Matt said in a slow, scratchy voice. "In another day or two... maybe three, you'll have all the coding you need, keyed and ready for your use."

"That is good." This smooth, cultured voice didn't belong to Mr. Submachine standing right behind Matt, but rather to another person seated at the doorway of the room he was in. Matt ate and slept and worked in this small room. There was a toilet in the corner, and a small sink; there were no windows, so Matt couldn't tell when it was day or night. His body clock was all messed up, but at least the lump on his forehead was going down, even though he still had flashes of pain when he tried to get some rest. He really needed his glasses, since he was staring nearly all the time at this damned computer screen, but his captors had taken him without nary a please-and-thank-you, and the glass had been left behind; maybe they were smashed on a street somewhere. The person who was speaking in that cultured tone now came forward, and out of the corner of his eye, Matt saw a flashing circle of steel. This man was in a wheelchair, his long legs limp and still. He was of a slender build and bald, his eyes hidden behind a pair of round-framed glasses.

"Very good, Engineer Farrell," he repeated softly and pressed his hands together, tapping the steeple of his fingers against his mouth. "Your colleagues will soon have their parts finished, and then we will be all happy. I like being happy. Don't you, Engineer Farrell?"

"Love it," Matt muttered, adjusting another line when the program told him it might not be viable. A flashing line of numbers alerted him to the fact that it was not relating to an earlier sequence. Matt tightened his lips, and went grimly at it. His anxiety was clamouring in the back of his mind even as his fingers danced over the keyboard, and a part of him was standing aside, wringing its hands fretfully as he worked.

_This wouldn't have happened if you hadn't fucked around with the government in the first place_, the fretting part of him observed mournfully. _You should have... you should have refused to work for them! Then you wouldn't have been caught up in this!_

_Well, can't be helped now, I'm caught_, Matt thought wearily as he typed. _I'm caught and the only way to keep alive is to keep working. Keep on trucking, as the old saying goes. If I do this, I might have a chance_. We _might have a chance. From the way that dude keeps talking, he got more than one of us._

_You're all alone in this room_, Fretful Matt pointed out, _You didn't see who else they kidnapped, and if they can help. Who's going to save you?_

_I'm a fucking computer hacker by trade_, Practical Matt returned. _And I've survived John 'Crazy McCrazyperson' McClane and a Fire Sale. Give me some goddamned credit. McClane does._

_Of course I do, kid_. Matt heard McClane's voice rasping very clearly in his mind, with its particular dry brand of calm. He heard that voice as sure as if McClane was sitting right beside him in this clammy, scary room and just the thought of McClane's stoic character stilled that anxious part of him, sending it into a dark corner to bemoan whatever fate he had. He could do this.

_Sure you can, kid. I_ know _you can_.

He exhaled slowly, pushing all the extraneous voices out of his already crowded-mind (except for that quiet surety that was McClane's) and bid his time until Wheelchair Man was rolling back out, with his usual quick word to Mr. Submachine. Matt quickly brought up another window on his screen as they spoke. He hunched over more, making sure that Mr. Submachine would not be able to see what he was doing, even for a short moment. His brain went on auto-pilot, and he began to make his calls.

They had tried to block him from accessing any outside lines, but they didn't know exactly who they were dealing with, did they? Matt's lips pulled away from his teeth in a grimace of concentration, the dry skin of them cracking almost painfully, but he paid it no attention for now. He encrypted and coded, making sure that there was only a very small chance that his calls could be tracked by whatever system Wheelchair Man had up. Matt had managed to check, when he had been moved from a bigger area to here, and he was pretty sure he could slip under their wires.

Matt worked feverishly, encrypting and sneaking around the system he was trapped in until he found a loophole. So tiny and yet it was _there_, and he squirmed a digital signal right through before he could even think too hard about it.

He heard a step behind him and he closed down that window so fast, he could hear the pixels sizzle on his screen. He made sure that the proper schematics were up and displaying by the time Mr. Submachine peered over his shoulder; the man gave a disinterested grunt and then returned to his post. Matt took an unsteady breath; he hoped his message was now winging its way to the right people.

_I don't know if I believe in God_, Matt thought as he went back to his work, fingers shaking. He had to stop for a moment and then flex them quickly, before continuing. _My parents never took me to church or anything. But if there's someone out there listening for us right now, please, please.... _please, _let them hear me calling_.

_And let them pass the message on to John_.

* * *

**Part 2. "Copy all cats and acrobats, I know you don't play fair..."**

 

_Weeks Earlier_

McClane eyed the squat white buildings on the quiet compound in front of him with an unimpressed eye, peering through the windshield of his car, his faithful Old Jess. The engine rattled ominously as he shifted into park, but Jess wasn't about to give up on him now. Jess was as tough as he was, good old American built; he would probably die before Jess did. She didn't have any fancy gadgets, no high-tech talking maps to tell him where he was, because he knew where he wanted to go, right? And Jess had taken him right to the place Jack had asked him to come in that text-message he sent, no problems at all.

Text-message, fuck. He hadn't even known that he had that crap on his phone. Did all cell-phones come with that now? He had felt it vibrate in his pocket during a particularly boring security-consultation session, and pulled it out with a frown. A tiny envelope had been displayed on the screen, with the words ONE MESSAGE RECEIVED printed beneath it. People used their phones to send messages? He'd always noticed those kids tapping away on those mini-computers disguised as phones, but he had assumed that they were always playing some game. He hated those types of phones; phones were for making a fucking phone call, there was nothing else McClane needed it for.

He'd figured out how to access the message after the meeting, fingers feeling huge and clumsy against the keypad of this new phone Lucy had given him. He had fought her tooth and nail to just get an ordinary phone, he didn't want any camera shit, just an ordinary phone. Of course, Lucy had completely disregarded him and got him something with a camera on it. John refused to find out how it worked. He had wrinkled his brow at the cryptic message from Jack's number. An address in Jersey and a 'come on down, Dad'. Jack was the most obtuse of them all; even John didn't have a poker-face like that kiddo did, and Holly always claimed that Jacky could play with every card so close to his chest, that they were practically skin. John was strangely proud of this fact.

Now, he turned and gazed down the long, rough road he had traversed, but there was no-one to be seen. Lots of cameras, though; he'd spotted them tucked neatly into the trees as he had driven up, their circular lenses rotating to track his progress. There was only the sound of calling birds, and a barely heard murmur of a nearby stream. John looked around again, satisfied that there was no one creeping up close, and took a look at the compound again.

He wasn't a big fan of smooth, featureless facades, and these buildings hidden deep in the Pine Barrens of New Jersey were as smooth and as featureless as they got. There were about six or seven on them clumped up in the flat compound, from what he could see through the high, metal gates. He turned his head and took a close look at the small, round black object embedded in the stone surface of the massive gate-column. He tensed as a red light glowed from the center of it, growing brighter in the cool autumn sun. McClane patted his hip; just making sure, that's all.

"Welcome to Central Government Securities, Detective McClane," a mechanical voice said smoothly, loud enough for him to hear through the closed window and McClane twisted his mouth.

"Never heard of it. And I'm not a detective anymore," he said shortly, voice raised and then felt annoyed at addressing some shitty machine. "Just McClane."

There was a short pause, and an almost inaudible click. "My apologies, Mr. McClane. Please, enter." The large gates parted and opened slowly. McClane let out a long, slow exhalation and drove his rattling car past the gleaming metal of the gates, parking it at the end of some shiny silver vehicles. One of them let out a warning signal as he passed too close and McClane gave it a grim kick on its wheel, fast with the side of his foot; he was deeply satisfied with the blaring alarm that emerged from the car.

"Look at that, same old Dad," a voice called from an open door on the nearest building. McClane gave a crooked smile as he approached his son, who was lounging against the door-frame, hands stuck in his pockets. McClane held out his hand as he came close, but Jack batted it away with a roll of his eyes and enfolded John in a tight hug.

"Here you are, you old sucker," Jack said into his ear and stepped away, grinning. McClane was just a little surprised to note that Jack was now a few inches taller than he was; it always shocked him, as if he hadn't seen his own son in a very long time. Since that last shit-storm with the computers and a lot of farting around afterwards that John still didn't understand, Jack had been calling him a lot. Keeping in contact. John liked that. Jacky had his dad's hawkish nose, like all of the McClane men in the family. The rest of him was almost completely derived from Holly: the wavy red hair, more burnished than his sister's, the pale skin, the exasperated temperament. At least Jack had a better sense of humour.

Beside him stood a tall man dressed in a sharply pressed uniform. His eyes were grey and cool, and McClane gave him a raised eyebrow, looking at him closely over the glasses he was wearing. John hated wearing glasses, but Lucy had insisted that he looked awesome.

"Dad, this is Agent Philburn," Jack said and there was something warm in his voice when he said this stiff-necked dude's name. "Colin Philburn, Deputy Project Coordinator," he explained further, and John nodded as he shook the man's hand briskly. Yeah, he remembered Holly talking about this guy. Jack was dating him, and Holly had muttered something about Jacky following closely in John's footsteps. John had chosen to ignore her on that.

"Thanks for coming down to CGS, Mr. McClane," Philburn said in chopped tones. "We really appreciate it."

"Yeah. I guess I'd appreciate knowing why I'm out here in the middle of nowhere. Jacky didn't tell me a thing."

Philburn gave Jack a long look. Jack shrugged.

"Top secret stuff, I'm supposed to tell him over the phone?" he said in that smart way of his, just like his mother. He made a quick motion with his head towards the interior of the building. "Come on in, Dad. And don't call me Jacky at work."

"At least you don't call me John, like Luce, that's a good thing." John stepped up into a dim corridor, looking around and taking in as much detail as he could. Just as bland as the outside, and it was an abrupt change when they emerged into a large, open area, sunlight streaming in from a slanted glass ceiling. A few people were walking about, dressed in white coats, cups of coffee in their hands. There were a few large planter-islands, housing large shrubbery and a few small trees.

"Have you heard of Tony Stark, Mr. McClane?" Philburn asked stiffly, making his way across the sunlit area. Jack was keeping pace with him quite easily, hands stuck in the pockets of his jeans. He looked over his shoulder at John, who was peering around, and gave his father a small smile. John noticed that Philburn had a slight limp, but he moved quite quickly.

"Yeah, who hasn't?" McClane suppressed a grin at the thought of that cocksure bastard. A fucking iron suit that _flew_. That guy was a crazy shit, no doubt about it, with enough money to buy more insanity if he wanted, and yet there was something in his face that John could relate to. Maybe it was the sheer balls of the guy. John could see it in his eyes when he was interviewed on television, the way he obviously thought that the whole world was at his feet.

He'd even been kidnapped by terrorists and escaped after giving them one hell of an ass-kicking. Crazy and cocky, but Tony Stark really had the balls to back it up. John had been impressed.

Obviously, the humorless Deputy Project Coordinator Philburn was not as impressed. "_Everyone_ has heard of him, Mr. McClane. Even the government. When we made an offer to Mr. Stark to establish a contract for making more of the suits, to equip our soldiers with superior fighting capability, we were refused." They were at a bank of elevators now, and Philburn jabbed a button irritably. Jack patted him on the shoulder and Philburn relaxed, just a bit. "So, the government created this agency to design and build the robotic armor. It has been a lot of hard work, but we've succeeded in recreating three of them."

John faced Jack as he entered the elevator, looking into his son's proud face. Jack was a mechanical and robotics engineer, just as clever with his hands as he was with numbers. When he was a kid, Jack would try to take every little thing in the house apart, anything that had tiny moving parts so that he could see how it worked. John remembered the fights Jack and Lucy had gotten into over something of hers that Jacky had torn to bits, but at least it had worked out for something.

"So, you made three suits," John said with raised eyebrows. Jack grinned again, looking highly mischievous. "Yeah, congrats. What does that have to do with me?"

"Our psychologists have determined that a certain personality is best suited for... the suit." Agent Philburn replied. "Best results would come from a person who is highly trained in combat, is a quick thinker in high-stress situations, and who has some knowledge of weaponry and flying."

"Dad, that's you," Jack whispered loudly and Agent Philburn's expression became freezing. McClane was beginning to wonder what Jacky saw in this guy anyway. Maybe the stick up his ass had some entertainment value for Jack.

"Yes," Philburn said between tight lips. "When we asked for candidates as testers, your name was submitted by Jack."

John blinked at his beaming son as the elevator came to a halt, and they emerged onto a floor that was just as sunlit as the interior atrium they had left. John was trying to puzzle out how they managed to have all that natural light streaming in when there were no windows apparent from the outside, but he pushed that aside that thought as they strolled quickly down another long corridor.

"Whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Don't you think I'm a little bit old for this shit?" John asked and they both turned to him, looking perplexed.

"Dad, you're fitter than Burnie here," Jack said with a grin. Philburn's mouth looked as if it was ready to break right off his face at the use of that nickname. Jack threw him a quick, apologetic look. "Sorry. But I wasn't the only one within the agency that suggested you as a tester."

"What?" John was taken aback. "Who else?"

"That would be me, McClane," an excited voice came from the end of the hall, and John turned to peer at Matt Farrell, who was grinning at him from a wide-open door.

The kid literally ran down the hall, his hair still long and flopping in his eyes and stuck his hand out to John, his smile going from ear to ear. John took his hand and shook it, a slow smile blooming on his own face.

"Well, well, kid. Long time, no see. You just up and disappeared on me. You don't even call more than once a month, you fucking bastard."

"I work in a top-secret government facility, what you want me to do, send you a singing telegram?" Matt's grin continued to be utterly delighted and John couldn't help smiling back at his beaming face. In the few months after the Fire Sale, Matt had bounced back with a kind of steely determination that had given John solid and strangely strong feeling of pride; he felt as if he had known the kid for years and years and was just now seeing him come into his own. John had the impression that no-one had really believed in Matt until now, and just the thought of someone standing up for Matt gave him the strength to fight for himself. Through all the investigations, where the Feds had questioned him for what seemed like forever, he'd stood his ground, albeit with much contrition, as John sat beside him in a silent show of support.

After, the kid had spent a few weeks in John's apartment, trying to get back on his feet. John hadn't asked him about his parents and Matt hadn't volunteered any information about them or why he hadn't wanted to crash at their place. In any case, he had been a good house-mate, clean and considerate, and John had actually missed his constant chatter when he'd finally found another place and moved out. They had met for coffee a few times since that; on such occasions, Matt had managed to haul him bodily into a nearby Starbucks, surprisingly strong when he was determined about something. Now John was in the dubious habit of purchasing a House Blend ever so often, to the point where the barista recognized him and they got some low-grade flirting going on.

Sometimes the barista asked after his son, and the first time that happened, John had thought they were talking about Jacky, until he figured out that they were really talking about Matt. The kid called him though, often enough so that John was just now realizing that this was the first time he had actually seen him in a little over six months.

At least Matt looked alive and well. That was real good, in John's book.

"I see you're well acquainted with each other, Mr. Farrell," Burnie said in that crisp way of his and Matt snorted, still gripping John's hand. He even put his other hand over the top of John's, his palms warm against the veined surface. There was a surprising line of callouses at the base of his fingers, as if he spent time gripping some kind of tool or weapon. John assumed it would be the former, since Matt's aversion to hand-guns had increased after his last encounter with them. No matter how much John had gruffly complimented his aim and told him he could probably give him tips to better it, Matt had simply shook his head and refused.

Now, Matt was giving Burnie an amazed, wide-eyed stare. Burnie's eyebrows raised questioningly.

"Dude," Matt started, speaking slowly as if he thought Burnie would miss what he was saying. "That is what people normally call an understatement. As a matter of fact, that is the understatement of the year. Don't act like you don't have a file, like, five feet thick on John McClane. Man, I got shot at with this guy. _Shot at_. If that doesn't make you bosom buddies, I don't know what will. We bled together, it was the scariest shit you ever saw, but this guy didn't even bat an eyelash. You want someone who's perfect for the suits we have? This is your guy. I'm not even joking, _this is your guy_."

Jack's face was a picture of amusement at Matt's speedy rant, but Burnie drew himself to his full height and glared down at the kid. Matt was in no way cowed. He just kept smiling and looking into John's face, until John cleared his throat and gave their joined hands a pointed look.

"Oh! Sorry," Matt said and snatched his hand away, going red. Jack stifled a laugh, and John threw him a quick, mock-censorious look. "So, uh. Are we gonna show him the suits? Are the other candidates here yet, Burnie? John, you're gonna love it. Seriously, I know you hate computers and stuff, but it'll be like riding a bike. You used to ride a bike, right? A Harley-Davidson, don't ask me how I know that, it's not my fault you have like a billion fansites--"

"Matt is in charge of the interface between machine and the human user," Jack put in through Matt's chatter and Matt went red again, running a hand through his hair and studiously not looking at the impressed expression on John's face. "He makes sure that all the commands given by the pilot and their body are followed by the internal computers, and that all the physical components of the systems are interconnected properly."

"Hey now, _in charge_." John elbowed the kid in the ribs, chuckling. "Here I thought you were just a run-of-the-mill hack-boy."

For some reason, the embarrassed yet proud expression on the kid's face dimmed slightly, and John looked at him real close. His suspicions were instantly aroused; but like most of his suspicions, he wasn't quite sure what he was suspecting as yet. They never failed him though, and even as the kid's smile returned in full-force, John could see that it was strained. He made a mental note to pressure him when he got the chance. The kid was mostly useless against John's tactics; if John pressed hard enough, and with the right glint in his eye, he'd probably spill every thing, sing like a bird.

"Nope, more than a hack-boy now," Matt finally replied. He opened his mouth, probably to go into another confusing ramble, when the mechanical voice spoke up again from right above their heads. John spotted the same type of rounded black object he had seen on the column on the entry gates, its red light beaming at them like an inquisitive eye. A corner of his mouth tilted wryly; he had actually _wanted_ to hear Matt's particular brand of speech, mainly because the kid might let something slip about whatever he felt he had to hide. Admittedly, he had missed Matt's way of talking. When Matt had been in the apartment with him, he had been annoyed at first at his habit of just talking for talking's sake, sometimes even not even requiring a response from John. After a while, he had learned to let the sound wash over him like a waterfall of words. When Matt had moved out, his home had become so disturbingly quiet, that John sometimes left the television running, just to get that same waterfall of speech pouring over his head. Wasn't quite the same, though.

"Deputy Coordinator Philburn, the other testing candidates have arrived. They are on Level Six, Meeting Room Four."

"Thank you, Cain," Burnie said. "We're already here on Level Six." He held out an arm in the direction that Matt had come from. "Shall we?"

"'Cain'?" John asked Matt as they walked behind his son and Bernie, who were talking quietly together. Matt flashed him a mischievous grin, looking impossibly young in that moment.

"Central Artificial Intelligence Network... _C A I N_, get it?"

"Why is it you geek-heads have to give everything a fancy acronym? Can't you just say 'computer', like they do on TV?" John complained. Matt chuckled.

"It's the way of the geek-head," he said. "If we don't do it like that, we don't have any fun. Cain runs the entire security system, links us with the other government agencies. He's kind of a jerk, though. High-strung and shit."

"Not true, Engineer Farrell," the smooth voice said in reproach and Matt obviously tried to wipe his smile off his face, unsuccessfully. John gave him a withering stare; only a guy like Matt would find it amusing to tease a computer. "My systems are highly sensitive. It is not unusual that I would be forced to activate a state of emergency when _certain_ people find it necessary to tinker with my sub-processing."

"_One time_," Matt said defensively, and John rolled his eyes. "You didn't have to put the entire compound under lock-down, I was only helping you run faster. Come on, admit it. Didn't your programes load faster?"

"That is not the point, Engineer Farrell."

"They did," Matt whispered smugly, his brown eyes sparkling and John couldn't help but smile at him. They reached an ordinary-looking door, and Matt stepped aside with slight, gallant bow. Burnie swept in, leaving Matt and Jack outside.

"Good luck," Matt said, and then grinned massively. "But you're McClane. You won't need it."

 

* * *

 

"So, Dad. What do you think? Going to sign the test-pilot contract?" Jack said casually as he brought out a huge bowl of spaghetti to the small table, tucked in a corner of his cramped dining room. Burnie was at the table as well, seated opposite from John. He was gazing around the living and dining area with a faintly disapproving air, his closely cropped dark hair almost bristling; John could understand, he was kind of a neat-freak too, when he wanted to be. Jacky was as messy as his mother, throwing things in any which direction when he came home.

'Home' for Jack was on one of the employee housing buildings on the compound, far enough from the main buildings that John had to go and crank up Old Jess, much to Matt's amusement, and drive about ten minutes to the housing area, a small, cozy-looking village with brick townhouses, a far cry from the cool impersonality of the Central buildings. Matt lived just a few houses down the pretty lane, and even though Burnie said he had his own apartment, John had seen two toothbrushes and two sets of towels when he had been nosing around upstairs. He had thought about sending some vague threats in Burnie's direction, and he made an attempt, really, but Burnie had frowned at him and Jack had just laughed, spoiling the whole effect.

"It sounds... interesting," John now said slowly, watching as Matt backed out of the swinging doors from the kitchen, holding a large bowl with the meatballs. "I dunno, though. Since I quit the force, the consultancy thing's been going good, you know?"

"Bet it's kinda boring, though." Matt passed John his cutlery haphazardly wrapped in a napkin, and sat, reaching for the spaghetti. "Oh, I forgot the wine, be right back."

"Just because something isn't exploding every week, doesn't mean it's boring," John called after his retreating form. Matt's laughter from the kitchen was derisive.

"Right, McClane. _Right_." He came back out, lugging two large bottles, pouring their glasses quickly. John shook his head and Matt simply switched to the other bottle, obviously remembering the non-alcoholic. "Keep telling yourself that."

"It's so strange to hear you call him McClane all the time," Jack observed, twirling his spaghetti. "I keep looking around when you do that, thinking you're talking to me."

"I call _you_ Jack." Matt frowned over the rim of his wine-glass. "You're _Jack_."

"He's messing with you," John said dryly, taking a mouthful of spaghetti. Jack reached out a hand and poked Burnie on the shoulder with a playful grin; Burnie remained sour-faced, but something in his grey eyes grew warm. John looked at Matt, who was watching Jack and Burnie surreptitiously as he ate.

"Matt."

"Hmm?" The kid's attention snapped to him immediately, a long snake-tail of spaghetti hanging from his lips. He slurped it up and managed to appear apologetic under Burnie's glower. "Yeah?"

"You didn't tell me you were working for the government, kid," John said, fixing Matt with a drilling stare. Matt fidgeted, staring down at his plate. "One minute, I'm hearing from Jack and the next, I see you."

"Saw him on TV," Jack said with a smile. "The bigshots figured that they could keep a better eye on him."

"Yeah, that," Matt said with a shrug. He had that strange look in his eye again and John remembered his resolution to nag the kid until he got an answer. "I'm under their thumb. Pet hacker, at your service."

"Hmm," was all John said, and they set to eating, breaking the silence with snippets of conversation about their families and work. Burnie ate fastidiously, with a knife and fork and Jacky leaned one elbow on the table, angled in Burnie's direction even as he talked animatedly with Matt about technical stuff that went completely over John's head. He didn't even bother to join in. He kept looking at the kid, though, watching how passionate he got over their work. It always kind of amazed John, to see how Matt loved what he did. He loved it just as much as John had loved being a cop, and if it was one thing John demanded in the few friends he ever kept, was that they gave a shit about what they did and had.

Matt had that in _spades_, and John liked that about the kid, even if he did get a little motor-mouthed about it.

"No, Dad, we'll do the dishes," Jack said as John got up, gathering their empty plates after their meal. "Come on, Dad, you're a guest in this place."

"Sit down," John replied, and Jack rolled his eyes, doing as he was told anyway. He was always more compliant than his sister. "Let me do these, make myself useful."

"Any more useful and we'd have to pay you," Jack teased. "When you're finished, come out onto the patio. We'll have some more wine out there."

"I'll help, McClane... John, I mean, I'll help you out." Matt gave him a tiny smile, and John returned it, watching with interest as Matt flushed and averted his eyes, tucking some of his hair behind his ears. "I guess I have to remember to call you John from now on, right? I mean, if you start testing, and everything."

"Haven't made up my mind yet, kid," John said in his dry way as they carried the used plates and cutlery to the kitchen, Matt holding the swinging door open for him. "That shit _flies_. You know how I feel about my ass in the air, don't tell me you forgot."

"But it'll be different!" Matt took a deep breath and John braced himself, placing the plates in the sink and running hot water over them. Matt launched into a lengthy explanation of stabilisers and back-up power, and John understood that the gist of it meant that he would be in total control. "And! And it's smaller, so you'll feel more comfortable. I think. I mean, I haven't been in it, so--"

"What about all that computer stuff?" John turned his head and gave him a long stare while he was scrubbing the sauce out of a pan and rinsing out the suds. He handed it to Matt, who wiped it absently with a large dish-towel. "I'm gonna have to learn all that shit, right? Let me tell you from now: I have a real allergy to anything complicated, got that?"

"Dude." Matt gave him a smug look, and placed the pan upside down on the drainboard before spreading his arms. "That is what I'm there for. I take care of all the smart shit, so you don't have to."

John gave a gruff snort of laughter and shook his head, and Matt smiled widely at him.

"I got something to ask you," John said abruptly, trying to catch Matt unawares and succeeding, as evidenced by the puzzled expression that now crossed Matt's face. "How'd you _really_ get into the agency?"

Immediately, the kid's gaze went as blank as it possibly could. It was a bit like watching a door slam shut, and John breathed slowly, not letting the kid see if he was upset or not, keeping calm so that he would feel more at ease to talk... _if_ there was anything to talk about.

"Like Jack said." The kid's eyes were fixed on his hands as they dried a big ladle deftly. "They wanted a geek to keep up with all the ones and zeros. That's it."

_That ain't it_, John differed mentally, but he decided not to press it. Behind the tight shutter of Matt's eyes, something sad and worried flitted. It wasn't even an _urgent_ kind of worry. John had seen enough of that type of worry to know when a person needed help and needed it right the fuck _now_, and this wasn't it. It was more of a... slow fretting, a deep one. The type that burned underneath someone's nose and went to bed with them at night, and sat over their heads, stealing sleep. It was the kind of worry which meant a secret was being held close to someone's heart, and they wouldn't let it go too easily. It was the kind John himself used to have, mainly when his kids were heaps younger and he was dreading the day they'd find out he'd killed many people, and they'd probably be afraid of him or hate him or both.

_That_ kind of worry. Lucky for him, Jack was very forgiving and Lucy was fairly violent type of person herself, so they'd gotten over that hurdle and he'd been able to sleep soundly again for a while, or at least as soundly as a man like him could expect.

So, instead of pressing his point and telling the kid to his face that he knew he was lying, John simply said in the mildest tone he could muster: "Oh, yeah?" and went on making sure all the spaghetti-pot had all the frothy traces of dish-washing liquid completely gone before handing it over.

"Yeah." The cautious relief in Matt's voice was almost palpable, and John felt the corner of his mouth twitch. _You're not out of the woods yet, kiddo_, he thought. _I still got your number._

"Can I ask you something?" Matt handed him another towel to dry his hands. John took it and looked at him, jerking his chin when Matt showed no sign of actually asking his question.

"What? Unless that was it, you asking if you could ask something. The answer to that is _yeah_."

"No, that wasn't it." Matt glanced quickly out the kitchen window, where they could see Jack's bright hair shining under the low light of the patio, and hear his laughing murmur. They both saw Burnie's hand reach out and touch the side of Jack's neck, a surprisingly gentle movement. The hand moved slowly down to the collar of Jack's shirt, hesitantly but eagerly, as if the person could not believe they were allowed to touch this way. Jack's head turned; his smile was huge and loving and John actually felt fucking wistful. Jacky had the exact same smile as his mother, the way his right cheek dimpled and his eyes kind of twinkled as if the whole world was in on the joke with him. Holly hadn't smiled at John like that in a long time. Matter of fact, few people had.

The hand pressed a broad finger into the dimple on Jack's cheek, and stroking very slowly at Jack's mocking expression before it pulled away again. For some reason, John felt a little more charitable towards Burnie.

"About Jack," Matt started faintly, his eyes still fixed on the bright head of hair on the patio. "Um. See, the thing is, I didn't know you'd be cool with.. with him. Like _that_."

"Like how?" John asked, feeling that old anger pile up in him. He pushed it down; the kid probably had a good reason to ask, but that didn't stop memories of Jacky getting into fights at high school and Jacky's heart getting broken just like anyone else, just by other boys. Jack was a big boy, he always told himself, but that didn't stop John from wanting to kick anybody's teeth out, who dared to hurt his son. He always thought himself capable of terrible things when it came to his kids.

"Like. You know. Being gay."

"He's my boy," John said in a soft tone, and Matt looked at him in surprise. "I'm on his side no matter who he wants to be with."

Matt was looking at him as if he had dropped from some sort of alien dimension, his lips slightly parted and his eyes wide. John tightened his own mouth, practically feeling the lines at the corner of it grow taut.

"You surprised at that, kid?" he said, feeling a little pissed-off and wanting to do something about it. He couldn't, not to Matt, but that didn't stop the feeling. "What, you thought I'd disown him for being gay? Maybe throw him off the roof of the house, or something? Try and beat it out of him?"

"No! Jesus, McClane, no, it's not that." Matt frowned at him, that mouth now pulling into a pretty pout. Funny, John had never noticed that the kid had such a nice mouth. Maybe because it was always spouting off wise-ass cracks and geek-speak that John didn't even want to know about. Now that he was really looking at it, it was a nice mouth. Kind of wide and full and really expressive.

"Then what?" He snapped, tearing his gaze away from Matt's mouth.

"It's just that you're like the mountain-top of heterosexuality, man," Matt defended, his eyes snapping quickly away from John's stare. "I just thought you'd be the kind of guy who wouldn't stand for stuff like that."

"First of all, it's not stuff _like that_, it's just _stuff_," John said, and wished he could smack himself in the head for picking up on the kid's nonsensical speech. "It's just how it is, and I'm not gonna ask him to change. I never have. Never will."

"Oh." Matt's gaze had returned to him, bright with interest. His eyes were a really deep brown, and if John were the poetic type, he'd actually say they were gorgeous. Nobody would ever hear him say that out loud, though. Not for anything.

"And besides, you got me all figured wrong, kid." John folded the dishtowel and leaned back against the cupboard, folding his arms. "I'm not exactly a great example of the red-blooded American male. Get it?"

Matt's eyes were fixed on his face, a little line between the dark thick eyebrows; John could almost see the little gears turning in his head, and the exact moment when they ground to a realization.

"What?" The kid kind of stumbled around the word, and John cocked an eyebrow at him, smirking a little. "What?! Are you saying... no. You're not. I mean, you can't be."

John didn't say anything, just kept on looking at the kid with a very small smile. Matt continued on by himself, hands moving in agitated circles.

"No, it's not that, it's just that... I never thought you could be, you know? Not that you _can't_ be, I mean, it's not like there's a particular stereotype for it, it's not like all guys like that look a certain way, just because you carry a gun and you're all, 'Hey I am badass, hear me roar,' doesn't mean that you... can't be..." he trailed off, looking desperate all of a sudden. "McClane, you were _married_. You had Jack and Lucy."

John shrugged, not knowing how to explain it. "Holly knew. Didn't hide anything from her. Yeah, we got married, we were happy, we got unhappy, we got divorced. Shit happens. Doesn't change who I am."

Matt exhaled, a long breath from between pursed lips. "And... what are you?"

John made a casual dip of his head to one side, moving one of his hands to adjust his glasses before folding them together again. "I'm always open to possibilities."

Matt gaped at him and then laughed. He threw back his head and just let it all out, peals of amused sound. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw Jacky sit up a little, looking around and peering at them through the wide kitchen window. He wrinkled his nose at the sight of Matt holding onto his sides at the small kitchen table, and then held up a half-full glass of wine, motioning questioningly at John with it, a _you coming_? John nodded, raising one hand in response: _just one minute, hold on_.

"You done?" John watched as Matt wiped at his eyes.

"Oh, yeah. Just... that's just you, McClane. Always _open to possibilities_, holy shit." He bestowed an affectionate smile on John, looking happy and amused. John felt a strange urge to keep him that way, that smile was a really nice one. "I like that," he said suddenly, and then went pink at his cheeks. "That you're open like that. I mean, that really sounds nice. I always wanted to... you know. Kinda, well, more like hoping to be. You know. A possibility. For someone like you." This last was stuttered out almost underneath his breath, and his cheeks were practically blazing. John heard every word he said, and was really surprised, even though Matt probably thought he was being very vague.

"That so?" he asked in a soft tone and Matt bit his lip. "Didn't know you were... open to possibilities."

"Oh, it's not... I don't know about that. I'm not really sure, anyway." Matt looked down, picking at one of his sleeves. He took a deep breath, as if he was bracing for a jump into freezing water and said quickly: "I'd been wondering if I was just John-sexual."

Now it was John's turn to laugh disbelievingly, and the kid threw him a quick, unsure look before joining in a little as well, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous gesture.

"What the hell does _that_ mean?" John finally managed to get out and the kid blinked at him, a strange expression stealing over his face, the kind that meant,_ah fuck, me and my big mouth_, but John wasn't going to let the kid off the hook just yet. Not with this one, at least. "Come on, kid. Talk. I won't bite."

"It's not like I watched you real close or anything like that," Matt said defensively. "I just used to think about you a lot. I mean, if I had the chance, I'd have asked if I could stay in your apartment a little longer, but I didn't want to come off as all needy or anything, it's not like I can't take care of myself, it's just that I liked the thought of you doing it when I was in your place, taking care of me, I mean, and oh my god, what did Jack put in the spaghetti, because I can't believe I'm telling you all this." He clamped his mouth shut as if he could staunch the flow of words but John was feeling pretty smug about now.

"You know, for a person who talks so much, you sure don't say the right things at the right time." John shifted his weight from one leg to the other. "Could have told me this a long time ago."

"Yeah. Maybe." Matt tugged at his sleeve again, appearing very embarrassed. "Maybe not."

"Hmm." John thought it could be just a phase of hero-worship or a pretty strong case of gratitude. Could turn out to be something worthwhile, though; but John wasn't a dreamer, he was actually practical to a fault, and not given to fantasies. At least, that's what he liked to tell himself. He caught another movement from Jack out of the corner of his eye; now Jack had actually stood up out of his seat, peering through the window at them with an impatient squint. "Let's get out on the patio, kid. Jack and Burnie are waiting."

Matt looked oddly disappointed, but he simply nodded, and trailed almost silently behind John as they went out into the cool spring air.

"Hey, I thought you were in there washing the floor," Jack teased, handing a glass of red wine to Matt as he sat in a sturdy wicker chair and passing another to John. Still the non-alcoholic stuff, John determined after one quick sip and got a quick wink from Jack when he looked towards his son. Jack was having the fake stuff too, while Burnie was swirling red wine in his own glass. "What were you guys in there yammering about?"

"Ah, just stuff," John said and smiled mildly when Matt drank his wine far too fast.

* * *

John read the contract a couple of times as he sat in a small office-space near the Mechanics Department of the CGA. He tapped his fingers on the table surface as he read; pretty good compensation for a short term of testing. He signed quickly and put down his pen.

"Wow, finally," one of the other persons sitting down at the table said; a woman with lovely dark eyes and short, curly hair. She had been introduced to him as Lt. Carolyn Baker; he'd actually read about her in the newspaper some time ago, one of the first black female combat pilots in the US Navy.

"Call me Ducks," she had told him with an amused twinkle in her eye as they shook hands firmly. "That's my call-sign."

"I'm guessing you're not going to tell me what it means," John had said and her grin as she shook her head was enough answer for him. The other tester, a soft-spoken man with premature gray hair, was named Davey Reid, the only one of them who was an actual test-pilot. He was busy poring over a large document outlining the robotic suits. Ducks and John had told him to summarize when he was finished and he had given them a flash of a smile and a thumbs-up. John felt kind of comfortable around them, albeit old. They both gave off a solidly confident air, dependable and sure.

The door to their little office was pushed open and Burnie walked in, nodding at them all as he gathered John's documents together. "Thank you for your participation. If you'll all make your way to the diagnostic lab, we'll start with your biometrics, and load them into the central system, so that each suit will be customized to you." He gave another nod before heading out the door. "Good luck."

"He's a real fun one, isn't he?" Ducks mumbled as they filed out. John snorted.

"I heard he had been turned down as a tester," Davey said in a low voice. "But his injuries wouldn't make it in the suit. Nor his personality, I'm guessing."

"This way, please," Cain's calm voice sounded over them before John or Ducks could reply. A red strip of light on a panel beside one of the doorways changed to green, and the door popped open slightly. Ducks reached out and pushed it all the way, revealing a room that looked kind of like a small ward in a hospital: three beds with their curtains pulled away, tall imposing machines standing close to them.

John spotted Matt immediately, looking almost unrecognizable in a white lab-coat, the sleeves rolled high up on his arms. He was half-turned away from them, apparently arguing quite cheerfully with an older woman. Dr. Avery, she was called, and John found that she reminded him of Holly, with that certain wry set of her mouth as Matt's arms flailed around excitedly. She was one of the neuroscientists who worked closely with Matt, joining their knowledge-base together so that the suit and the wearer could act as one. John had an idea that it was different in the original Iron Man suit, but he wasn't a hack-boy, so he would never be sure.

John was in the middle of being amused, when his attention was called to Matt's arm. He blinked at the small black tattoo halfway up the slender, toned bicep.

That was new; that tattoo had not been in existence when Matt was lounging around his apartment in his white, sleeveless undershirts. _Wife-beaters_, that's what Matt had laughingly called those undershirts, and John had given him a swift playful kick in the thigh as he had stepped over him with a large bowl of popcorn. Funny how that memory just popped into his head; they had been having a quiet night in, watching some movie; _Rambo_, as he recalled. Matt had been sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa, his new laptop set up in front of his crossed legs. Now and again, he would look up and make a snide comment about the Pentagon Papers or something like that, and John had asked him what the hell he knew about wars anyway. Matt had turned his head, fixing those brown eyes on John's face.

"Not much," he had said in a low voice, one side of his mouth tilting up, a shadow of his normal huge grin. "But I hang around you, so I know enough."

John had raised both his eyebrows, sipped on his water and continued to watch the movie, the heat from Matt's body pressing against his legs.

Now he was looking at that new strange mark on the kid's arm, some Chinese symbol. It wasn't very large, but he found it intriguing.

"Engineer Farrell, the testers are ready."

Matt spun around at Cain's slightly censorious tone, and he smiled as he pulled down his sleeves, covering his tattoo completely. "Hey, if you'd just come on over. Hey, Ducks," he finished with a quick, shy grin as Ducks gave him a rapid salute.

"Hey, hot stuff." Ducks sauntered over and hopped onto the bed nearest Matt. John wondered why he was glowering and took one of the other beds, watching as Matt motioned for Ducks to remove her shirt. She complied fairly quickly, lying back in her bra and chatting lightly with Matt as he fixed some sensors onto the skin of her chest, bending forward a little to observe the displays on the machines and giving a quick command to Cain before making his way over to Davey and doing the same. Other Agency employees were flitting about, taking notes quickly and tapping information onto flat silvery panels in their hands. Before he knew it, Matt was at his side, making a quick, abortive motion at John's shirt with his hands, before stopping himself and pulling back quickly.

"Clothes off, McClane." His voice came out as slightly nervous croak, and he cleared his throat as he took up a few of the flat, white sensors from a nearby surface, waiting with an almost tentative air.

"If I'd known you'd want to see some skin, I'd have shown up naked," John said, and Matt went red to the roots of his hair. John decided, right then and there, that he would probably make it a point during this whole exercise to tease the kid a little. Now and again, just for the heck of it; it would be fun to see the kid blush like that. He began to pull the buttons on his short-sleeved shirt, letting each button slip through its buttonhole. Matt's eyes flickered now and again to each bit of skin as it was revealed, and when the shirt finally slid down over John's shoulders, John saw him take a deep breath and exhale out through his lips.

John folded the shirt carefully, leaning to the side so that he could place it at the foot of the bed, then toed his shoes off and reclined on the bed, arms folded behind his head.

"Ready when you are, kid." He smiled widely and Matt bit his lower lip before leaning in to start his work.

"These are really to gather information for the suits," Matt spoke in the direction of John's bare chest, obviously aiming for a clinical tone and failing completely. His fingers shook a little as he pressed the cool sensors to John's skin, lingering a little too long over each one. "So I can configure them properly, you know?"

"Oh, yeah." John wondered if he was overdoing the silky tone of voice; maybe he was, because Matt's wide eyes snapped to his, before going back to watch results filling the flat panel beside the bed. John peered down his own chest, where one of Matt's hands was still resting comfortably. Matt looked down as well, obviously wondering what John was so interested in; he snatched his hand away, hurriedly, cheeks flaming again as John gave him a large, cheerful grin. "Nice warm hands you got there, kid," he commented.

"Thanks," Matt responded almost absently, looking straight into John's face with a dazed expression. John gave him an amused twitch of his eyebrows and Matt seemed to shake himself out of it, frowning a little; he was probably berating himself in his head. "Ok. You're good. That's basically it for today. The physical fittings tomorrow, and we geeks tweak the systems now."

"Sounds great!" Ducks chirped, pulling on her shirt and smoothing it down. "But, Farrell, you gotta eat, like regular human beings. Let's do lunch."

"Now?"

"Yeah, now's a good time for me," Ducks said lightly, running a hand over her short hair. "It being lunch time and all. Oh, McClane, you want to go get something to eat? The food is actually pretty good down in the cafeteria."

"Sure. What do you say, Matt?" John tried to keep an easy tone, pulling on his own clothes, but he was really struggling with this strangely possessive feeling inside. Matt threw him a quick, hesitant glance, and then nodded slowly. John gave him a bare smile. "Great. Let's go, then."

John wished he could say he didn't mind when Ducks grasped onto Matt's elbow and dragged him out of the room, laughing and talking to him all the while, but he found he _did_ mind.

Quite a bit.

* * *

John stretched on the tiny stoop of Jack's house, hands raised up in the air. It was a cool morning, and Jack's snores were loud as he passed by his room; John had heard Burnie mumbling as well and had shaken his head before descending down the stairs and opening the door quietly after he had deactivated the security system. Cain would re-arm it after he left; it was just a little discomfiting to John that Cain was so pervasive, but Jack and Matt were comfortable with it, and he figured he could learn to be as well. Or, at least, he could ignore it.

He had choosen to stay at Jack's house until the tests were finished; wasn't as if it was a permanent thing, anyway, and he liked spending time with his son. Last night, dinner had been just the two of them, and John had been in stitches at Jack's sly humor. Jack had mimicked everyone; he had Burnie's crisp speech down to a T. He had even copied Matt's rapid mutters perfectly, walking around the living room with his head down in deep concentration, just like Matt when he was caught up in the middle of an astounding idea.

John hadn't laughed so hard in a long time.

"That dude, I've never seen him blush so hard since you've come here, Dad," Jack had said cheerfully as John had tried to calm his chuckles. "It's the cutest thing ever."

"You sound like your sister." John rolled his eyes and Jack had just laughed.

"No, I don't. Roughneck Lucy? She wouldn't say that was cute at all, she'd say it was a little sad that Matt was over there mooning over you and you weren't doing anything about it. My sister," Jack had sighed dramatically, "so uncouth."

"Mooning over me, huh," John had said dryly, but Jack's grin had been huge and knowing. John had changed the subject. "How'd you get into this Agency, Jackie?"

"I got here after Matt did, remember when I called you and said I got hired on a new project? I couldn't really tell you what it was, though." Jack had handed him some more mashed potatoes and had forced the issue when John had tried to refuse. John watched resignedly as Jack piled the potatoes on his plate. "All the computer systems were already in place, and there were some designs that I put some modifications on. I redesigned the leg mechanisms from the proposals we were handed when we came on," he had said offhandedly.

"That's great, Jack." John had felt really pleased, smiling as Jack grinned back at him and John had resisted the urge to reach over and ruffle his son's hair. He really was proud of Jack; he was a steady kiddo, and that was what John loved most about him.

"Then we had to hand over all the programming to the interface unit, so that each body-section could be aligned properly. It's really a complicated piece of work." Jack considered his forkful of peas and carrots, and popped it into his mouth with a faint grimace. John grinned; Jack had always hated to eat his vegetables. At least he was still trying. Jack swallowed and reached for his glass. "It's a lot of stuff to think about, but Matt does a good job at it," he had continued when he finished taking a long drink. "He's pretty good."

"Yeah," John had agreed noncommitally, and Jack had raised his glass in mock salute.

Now, in this cool morning John trotted down to the small front gate, hoping to get in his early run before they started the fitting today. He saw Ducks and Davey on the opposite side of the road, the both of them jogging easily as they raised their hands in greeting. John started after them; probably he could cross the road up at the intersection and join them. There were other Agency employees out this early as well, some of them running flat out, some walking briskly, elbows swinging in business-like arcs. There was someone running up behind him; John could hear the scuffing of sneakers along the sidewalk.

"Morning, McClane," this someone said in a slightly breathless from behind him and John threw a quick look over his shoulder, surprised. He thought Matt was the kind of person who liked to lounge around in bed until the very last moment possible, before they were forced to get up and go to work. Instead, the kid was moving very quickly in order to catch up with him, reaching beside him and going down to a light trot to keep up.

"Matt," John acknowledged, looking sidelong at him as they jogged together. "Thought you'd still be all warm in your bed."

"Yeah, but it's hard being warm when you're all alone in it," Matt muttered and then got a funny look on his face, that same look people get when they've said something they wanted to take back. John grinned at him, but he was looking forward steadfastly. "Um. Yeah, Central Securities insists that all employees and affiliates do some sort of training every week. I mean, trust me, I've tried to sleep in, but Cain always gets me up. It's a pain."

"What, you let that computer in your bed?" John said teasingly, and the kid huffed. "Kinky stuff, kid."

"Come on, gimme a break," Matt muttered, but he was grinning. They ran down a slight slope and turned onto a clearly marked trail through the trees; now and again, they had to run off the trail and through the leaf covered ground, running past people who were walking or jogging more slowly. Matt kept up with John all through, even when John sped up for a challenge, the both of them racing along the path.

"Okay," John panted as they found themselves going uphill again; they had more or less travelled in a large circle, so they were undoubtedly heading back to the residences. They both slowed down to walk. "Not bad."

"Didn't do so bad yourself, for an old dude," Matt said with a huge grin, his dark hair almost completely black with sweat. He was wearing a sleeveless grey shirt and loose black shorts; John looked down at his bare arm. No, not that one, so he stepped behind Matt as they walked and ended up on the other side.

"What does that mean, Matt?" he asked, pointing at the black tattoo.

"Oh, that." Matt gave it a quick glance, almost disinterestedly. "It's just a chinese symbol that means forgiveness."

"Yeah? So, who do you want to forgive?"

"I forgot you liked to ask so many questions," Matt remarked as they cleared the trees, but it was half-hearted at most. They started to jog together again, legs pounding on the sidewalk in tandem. John felt a slow pain start to build in his left knee, sharpening with every jolting step and he ruthlessly forced the complaint out of his head. It was something he did out of habit; when he got back to Jake's place, he'd get something to rub on it. For now, it was bearable and he'd deal with it.

"I forgot you hate to answer," John said dryly, walking in short strides. Matt chuckled, adjusting his own steps.

"Okay, fine. I don't have anyone in particular to forgive. Maybe I'm asking for it? Forgiveness, I mean," Matt said, but John gave him a quick glance, picking up a thread of something under the light tone of his voice. He stopped, and Matt walked on a little way before he realized that John wasn't beside him; he turned around, putting his hands on his hips as his eyebrows drew together. "What?"

"I was thinking that there's something you'd like to tell me," John said evenly. Before Matt's eyes could completely shutter, he went on: "Because you trust me. You do, right?"

"Of _course_, man." Matt sounded as if he couldn't stress that any more. He stepped forward, sunlight streaming through the leaves and landing on his face. It turned his eyes from their usual brown to a richer mahogany, damp strands of dark hair plastered to the sides of his face and neck. John was very aware of him, of his slim body and earnest face, of the fresh smell of his sweat; it made John feel pretty fucking off-balance. "It's just... maybe I just don't want to disappoint you again."

John squinted at him. "Disappoint me? What d'you mean by that, kid?"

Matt folded his arms, and rubbed them, looking over John's shoulder. He sighed, and then shook his head.

"Never mind."

"No, _not_ never mind," John said, voice hardening a little. He advanced on Matt with a few quick steps. Matt didn't step back, but he did blink quickly as he tilted his head back a little to look up in John's face. His eyes widened even more when John raised his hands and placed them quickly on his shoulders, his rough skin a few shades darker than the smooth tanned expanse of Matt's neck. John shook him a little, and then gave him a small smile. "Hey. I can't say I won't be disappointed or not, I don't know. One thing I _do_ know: you'll still be just the same to me."

"But I don't _want_ to be that dumb hacker kid anymore," Matt muttered, eyes still not meeting John's. "I don't want to be that person who makes trouble just to get trapped in it. I want to be more than that." His eyes finally met John's, who was surprised to read a species of muted fury in his eyes, but this wasn't directed at John at all. It was turned inwardly, eating the kid up just as sure as acid would if he had swallowed it.

"You're not that person anymore." John gave him another little shake, encouraging in its nature. Matt's neck and shoulders fitted well under his broad palms, and John had a very vivid image of sliding his hands up, moving softly against that smooth skin, cupping that scruffy curve of his jaw. "Come on, kid, spill."

Matt opened his mouth, right on the brink of letting everything out, then just as firmly closed it. "Like I said, John. It's nothing."

He twisted away from John's firm grip, his back straight as he marched away determinedly. John watched the set of his head in bemusement, and then shook his own head, wondering just when the kid had gotten so damned old and stubborn. Maybe he was a stronger example than he thought, John rolled his eyes at himself, taking off after Matthew in a quick walk.

*

John had long resigned himself to the fact that he was attracted to Matt. _Engineer Farrell_, as Cain would primly intone, and that title fit him really well. He had known about this attraction since the very day Matthew had moved into his apartment with just the clothes he had on his back, his backpack with its hodge-podge collection of geekery, a stylish cane that had been given to him by Bowman, and a strangely delighted expression on his face. He had recognized this attraction and packed it away neatly, staying in the friends zone, because Matt was too fucking young and too vulnerable and probably not that interested anyway.

When Matt had moved out, he had really missed the kid. Seeing him again had stirred up that terrible nest of grim want, vociferous no matter how John tried to tamp down on it. He ignored it, and it festered and he really hated when that happened. He wasn't some teenager, pining after some unattainable guy. Now things were looking a bit different, that wasn't such a bad thing to take out and consider.

But, deep attraction to Matt or not, there was no way John was getting in that fucking suit.

Okay, so he was. Sooner or later, he would. He had signed the damned contract, right? And everyone said that John McClane was a man of his word, even though John wasn't sure what the word was. He was standing with his arms folded, here in what the denizens of Central Security called the Alaska labs (due to their distance from the other buildings on the compound, and how high the air conditioning was turned up), dressed in a white t-shirt and a pair of loose black track-pants, watching as Ducks and Davey suited up. From where he was standing, it didn't really look like that much fun.

The suits were sort of a surprise to John; he had expected some kind of... _iron man_, and they looked more like confused metal cloaks, all three of them hanging there open over the long, low dais. Davey was first, his face bright with excitement. He was instructed to stand with his arms raised and spread apart and he did so, looking like an eager child on the playground, maybe blocking some basketball maneuver or something. Matt was rapidly pressing his finger to various spots on the panel in front of his face; it was transparent, so John could see past the cascading numbers and catch his eye. Matt gave him a weak smile, and ran his finger along a flashing red line, the characters of which turned green as soon as his finger passed over it.

"Initiate systems link, Cain," Matt said. Even though his voice was pitched low enough, it seemed to echo through the high ceiling of the Alaska lab.

"Systems link initiated, Engineer Farrell," Cain returned in that cool voice. John tightened his lips as the metal cloak began to fold itself in, seeming to mold its way around Davey's solid form. His legs were covered, then his hands, until the mask of the suit flipped over his face, obscuring his eyes.

"Power up and release," Jack said, reaching across Matt to flick a switch and the suit hummed, the large eyes starting to glow. "Suit One is on its own power. Give me a status report, Cain."

"Yes, Engineer McClane. All systems are live and running."

Jack clapped Matt on the back; Matt's face looked a bit shell-shocked, as if he really hadn't expected it to work.

Davey lowered his hands, looking at the large metal fingers which were now his, moving under his command. "Holy shit, this is cool," he said, and his voice was low and metallic as it came through whatever voice-box that metal thing was using. "Wait." Davey pressed his hands to the strong metal casing that was the helmet. "Wait, I don't feel so good."

"Relax, Davey," Matt said, frowning at his clear screen. "It's your brain trying understand the suit, and vice versa. Give it a minute." He turned away, said in a lower voice, "Make sure Dr. Avery is ready in case of anything, Cain."

"She is, Engineer Farrell."

John turned his head and saw Dr. Avery standing to one side, emergency equipment around her, assistants standing by.

"Ok," Davey breathed, and John turned his head back. "I... I think I can do this. Yeah. It feels better now."

"My turn now," Ducks said from her position beside John, and squared her shoulders, going towards the second suit. She winked at Matt as the armour began to fold around her, and Matt gave her a quick salute.

"Ugh, this is trippy," she complained as the suit locked around her and she tried to step off the podium, looking clumsy with the effort. "Wow. Not so fast, ground, stop moving so fast."

_Really encouraging_, John thought and then set himself to walking over to the third suit before his mind could refuse to do it. He stood on the podium with his arms in that raised position, trying to relax when what Jack and Matt called the neurocables unfurled from the interior casing of the suit, latching onto the surface of his skin like leeches. He felt a rushing sensation in his brain, and he was so busy trying to fend off that strange feeling, that he nearly didn't notice when his suit began to bend around him, becoming metal gloves along his arms, boots along his feet... a whole iron _suit_.

This was some strange shit.

"McClane," Matt was saying, and John realized he could hear the kid's voice quite clearly, even though he was almost completely enclosed. At least the communications system was intact, he could hear the kid from the tiny speaker in the helmet of the suit, loud and clear. "Hey. Hey, John, don't fight it. Breathe."

"It's okay, Dad, breathe," Jack reiterated, his voice tinged with worry. John heard him murmur something to Matt.

Matt's reply was just as low. "Yeah, the sensors are running fine. He'll be okay, give him a couple of minutes."

John inhaled, and the suit finally snapped around him, completely closing him in. He bowed his head and kept it down, feeling that weird sensation snake down his spine, trickling into his legs and arms, all the way to his fingers and toes. He felt nauseous, and... _invaded_, the mechanical mind of the suit trying its best to attune to his, with all the prior information it was given; but the brain was such a fluid thing, and a computer so rigid. He could feel both systems, biological and mechanical, strain against each other.

"John," Matt's voice came again, a whisper in his ear. "It's okay."

John opened his eyes; he didn't even know he had clenched them shut. The heads up display bombarded his eyes and mind with information: distances, angles, temperatures. He gritted his teeth, annoyed that the HUD would be so distracting, squinting his eyes against it.

Instantly, the confusing jumble of images ceased. John looked down and raised his hand, watching as the metallic fist clenched. It wasn't as heavy as he thought it would be; he had had this idea that he would be wearing the suit, but it felt as if the _suit_ was carrying _him_.

"Alright," he said softly, feeling his body and the machine come to a wary agreement. "Alright, now. This feels okay."

There was a loud crash somewhere behind him and John whirled around, feeling surprise at the smoothness of the action. Davey's suit was lying on its back, limbs jerking roughly against the ground. Ducks was kneeling beside him, and she looked up, the placid mask of her suit hiding the worry apparent in her voice.

She said, "I think he's having a seizure," and put her hands underneath his body, lifting his spasming frame easily. John ran over, hearing his heavy steps clumping on the ground. He reached out to help her, but she shook her head quickly, darting past him towards Dr. Avery. Matt and Jacky were there already with the other engineers, yanking cables from up out of the ground and sticking their ends into hidden ports of the suit.

"Shit," Jack said as Ducks placed Davey gently on the bed. He, Matt and the other engineers and doctors were engaged in this weirdly graceful dance around each other, snapping panels open, pressing unseen switches, plugging in cables. "Cain!"

"Yes, Engineer McClane?"

"Give me an auto-override on Suit One, _now_."

"Overriding Suit One," Cain informed them. Davey's suit gave one massive lunge, almost sitting straight up on the hospital bed, which gave a complaining creak at the weight. "Override sequence failing."

"Try it again!" Dr. Avery yelled. "Get his mind out of that damned thing!"

"Fuck," Matt spat, just barely ducking as Davey's massive metal arms wheeled. Ducks went forward, and after a beat John followed, pinning Davey's arms and legs down as Dr. Avery and Jack finally managed to pull get his helmet open.

"Override sequence, failing." Cain's mechanical voice was coolly casual, and John absolutely fucking hated that.

Dr. Avery pressed a long needle right into Davey's neck and the straining strength of Suit One was suddenly gone from under John's arms.

"He'll be okay, he's just out cold," Dr. Avery said with a sigh, peeling back one of Davey's eyelids and snapping on a small flashlight. John and Ducks stepped away, standing close together as Matt and Jack began to dismantle the suit around Davey, obviously doing everything manually. Dr. Avery peered up at them, her eyes sharp. "How do you two feel?"

"Fine for now," John told her. Ducks nodded and the good doctor stared at them some more. "We're good, doc."

"Make sure," she told them darkly. "The computer in his suit kind of... back-lashed in his brain. Do you understand?"

"It wasn't a mechanical failure, the suit is fine," Jack said hurriedly as John folded his arms, hoping his glare translated to the mask. "It's just... it's just something that happens. Our suits link directly with the brain, like we told you, nothing like the one Stark has. And some brains, they just can't link well."

"And _our_ brains do?" Ducks tapped her rounded helmet with her fist; the resulting sound was heavy and strong, like clanking a pipe on a steel door.

Matt spoke up before anyone else could answer. "Dr. Avery, let me and Jack hook Suits Two and Three back into Cain's mainframe. We can get a look at their stats, make sure it's all okay."

"Do it," Dr. Avery said crisply. Jack and Matt came towards them with the cables they had removed from Davey's now-dismantled suit.

"You'll feel like, a little shock or something," Matt warned, pressing his hand against an almost unnoticeable panel on John's lower right arm. He pressed the cable into the panel, and John flinched at the sensation, as if someone had pinched him _inside his head_. Matt murmured something, low and comforting, and then he looked up into John's face. With the suit on, John stood a good head over Matt, and the kid had to tilt his head back much further.

"Wow," he murmured, and a small smile touched the corner of his mouth. The display in front of John's face gave him useless information about Matt's vital statistics, useless because he was busy looking down in Matt's face, enjoying that little, secret smile. "I knew you'd be awesome in this, and you are. I mean, you were always some kind of iron man, and now you have the suit to prove it."

"You did a good job," John said simply, and noticed that both pride and shame warred on Matt's expressive face. "You did a lot of work, kid. That counts for something, right?"

Matt tightened his lips, thinking deeply on this. Then he nodded slowly. "Yeah... yeah, I guess you're right."

"Of course I am," John said firmly and then looked down as his suit made a low beeping sound. "I hope that's a good sound."

"That's a _very_ good sound," Matt confirmed, and unhooked the suit. Jack was doing the same for Ducks, grinning up at her.

"So. We ready to fly, guys?" Jack said eagerly, and John tried hard not to groan. He really hated this technological shit.

* * *

**Part 3. "Every continent has chaos and we need you here, we need you here..."**

Matt opened his eyes slowly; he had been having a pretty sweet dream, and he didn't want to come out of it. It had involved John and a bed and a lot of fun times, and there had been a section with the robotic suit. Oh, that had been pretty awesome. Weird, but awesome.

Matt sighed and turned over on the thin mattress, staring at the computer he had left running. A different Mr. Submachine was at the doorway of his cell now. They changed quite regularly, watching him from behind their reflective sunglasses. Wheelchair Man would probably arrive soon. Wheelchair Man. Obviously, he had a lot of money, and a lot of shady connections, because he wasn't just making a suit for himself, so that he could walk again. No, he would mass-produce them. A million Iron Men, sold to the highest bidders. Once Matt replicated the base systems, just as he had done for Central Government Securities, and he was almost finished, Wheelchair Man would more than likely dispose of him.

"Break time is over," Mr. Submachine told him in a flat voice. "Get back to work."

"Thank you very much, Mr. Roboto," Matt said tiredly, sitting up. "On it."

As soon as he finished the coding, it would be transferred to another room, where it would be uploaded into the suits they were making. Matt had assumed that they had also kidnapped another engineer or two from Central, so that the actual construction and connections could be handled. Matt never saw who else they had taken, _if_ someone else from Central had been taken. For all he knew, he had been part of a Great Kidnap Plan, yanked from the street unceremoniously because he was the lead Interface Engineer on his project. They, whoever they were, could have taken engineers from other parts of the country, and brought them to this place, to have their own suits built.

Matt sighed, knuckling his eyes as he sat again in front of the computer screen. He had been moving as slowly as he dared at the start, but a sharp blow to his forehead with the butt of a gun had quickly put that particular plan out of action. He had sent his sneaky little message, but that had been a few days ago, and now Matt was losing hope.

To bolster himself, he thought of John, the way John's first attempts at flight in the suit had been the funniest thing Matt had seen in _years_.

*

While Ducks was a silver blur comfortably zooming around the wide-open field set aside for this use beside the main buildings, her yells loud and delighted, John remained on the ground with his arms folded, glaring at Matt and Jack. Well, Matt only assumed he was glaring, because he could only see the glowing eyes of the helmet.

"Dad, the stabilisers will take care of it," Jack said in an exasperated voice, sounding so much like Lucy that Matt had turned around and stared at him for a moment. "Just give it a try, you don't have to be scared."

"I'm not scared, Matt." The mechanized vocal output still had that unmistakable gruff confidence. "I just want to know that what happened to Davey isn't gonna hit me when I'm up there."

"It won't." Matt was confident. "Davey's brain rejected the suit. Yours and Ducks didn't. You'll be fine."

John pointed a huge metal finger at him. "You better be sure, Farrell. Cause if I fall out of the fucking sky, I'll definitely aim for your sorry ass."

Matt shook his head wryly, watching John change his stance from that stubborn set of his arms to a slightly crouched position. He wondered how it felt, having his mind and the suit act so close together, and watched as John made a tiny hop into the air.

Nothing.

"Oh God, what are you _doing_?!" Matt laughed and shook his head. "Dude, you're supposed to go _higher_! Not play hopscotch!"

"Shut up, man," Jack admonished, and then turned back to John. "Dad, you have to order the boosters to activate."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" John snapped and made that little awkward hop again.

Matt struggled to keep his screams of laughter from bubbling up, because John, who moved with a kind of rough grace in his own body, looked positively ridiculous in the massive silver suit, hopping around as he attempted to take flight. The boosters flickered at the palms and the feet, but it still wasn't enough. Ducks flew towards them, slowing down when she came near, and reached out to ruffle Matt's hair companionably. Her touch was extremely heavy but not damaging at all and she took off again, turning a loop-de-loop even as the wind from her passage blew dust into Matt's eyes. He used that as an excuse to rub at his face furiously, hiding his huge grin behind his hands.

"Just... you have to _want_ it to happen," Jack said and sighed. "I figure it's a lot easier for Ducks, she's been a pilot for years and some concepts are probably easier for her. But you fly too, right, Dad?"

"He didn't finish that course," Matt muttered and the glowing eyes glared again.

"Gimme a second," John had declared in a tone of voice that indicated that he was probably clenching his jaw stubbornly. "This computer shit can't get the better of me. I can do this."

_I can do this_. Four simple words, yet they summed up John pretty effectively, as far as Matt was concerned. And he _had_; he had crouched again, and the boosters had flared with their blue-flamed authority. Matt could see the stabilisers rotate as they tried to level John, who was wheeling his arms around as he began to lift and hover.

"Go, Dad!" Jack yelled, pumping his fist in the air. "Go!"

John had made a couple slow rotations, testing out his control over the flight systems; he nodded at Matt, and while his expression could not be seen behind the bland silver mask, the nod itself was very smug. Matt grinned until his cheeks hurt, watching as John took off slowly in Ducks' wake, chasing after her as his mastery over the system grew more assertive.

That day was amazing. It had _worked_; Suits Two and Three were running fine, and Suit One was still in good working order, just without a test pilot for now. It would be up to the doctors to figure out why certain brain patterns were simply not able to be attuned. Davey had been deeply disappointed, but able to make a joke or two out of it.

"I always knew my brain was too much for any machine," he had sighed from the infirmary bed when Matt had visited him. "I mean, it was cool for about a minute or so, then everything went all crazy in my head. I don't know why you guys have to connect it directly to the brain, though. Why _is_ that, anyway?"

Matt had sidestepped the question pretty easily when Davey asked it, but when John had asked him much later, as they had been having dinner at his place, he found he couldn't slip around John so easily.

Nor did he want to.

He had been idly mashing some potatoes in his kitchen, feeling almost too tired to eat after that long, exciting day. He had also been wondering if it would be too much to go over to Jack's and hang out, when John had showed up at his door.

"Hey, how do you feel?" Matt asked as John slid inside, his eyes flicking around the bland space. Matt hadn't bothered to put in much effort in decorating, and the walls were bare. "Not too much of a headache, right?"

"Head's too tough for that." John smiled at him as he laughed out loud. "You gonna feed me or what?"

"Don't you have a son around here, somewhere?" Matt led the way back to his kitchen. "A son that actually likes to cook?"

John lifted one shoulder in a quick shrug. "Just wanted to give him and Burnie a little space. Besides, I know you won't poison me. Much."

Wow, if Matt was going to laugh at every single thing that McClane said, he was probably going to end up with a sore throat. He did laugh a lot as they prepared the rest of the simple meal, Matt enjoying John's company. It was only when they had been eating their way through half a berry pie that an assistant from Central had left for him, when John's easy-going manner had taken on a solid sort of intensity, like a steel fist wrapped in a velvet glove.

"Matt," he had said, his voice curiously gentle and hard at the same time. "You have something to tell me, I think. A bunch of things."

Matt beat around the bush as best he could. "Something to tell you? I don't understand, what do you mean, man?"

John simply stared right into his face until Matt felt his skin flush and fought the urge to squirm.

"There's something that's eating you up, kid. So here's your chance to tell me what it is."

"It doesn't matter," Matt had said defensively, and John's eyes had narrowed. "No, seriously, it doesn't."

"Know what I was wondering?" John leaned back casually, and the swift change in his attitude threw Matt completely. "I was wondering, how comes Central Securities built these suits so fast? I mean, they got them done _really_ fast. They must have been working over-time in the design and... and the development, that's what you call it, right? Cause Stark wouldn't hand the government all his info, so they'd start from scratch. Am I on the right track, kid?"

"I guess," Matt had said from behind tight lips.

"Yeah." John nodded, eyes still fixed on Matt's face. "Yeah, and I've been trying to put this all together in my head and between the time you left my house and got this job, it just seems like a really short time to have all this ready, you know?"

Matt had moved his hands from on top of the table, clasping them in his lap to hide the trembling of his fingers. He bent his head, seeing only the remains of his slice of berry pie.

"Matt," John's voice was so soft. "Whatever it is. Tell me."

"I know you're gonna be disappointed." Matt hated the way his voice shook, but it was a mixture of despair and relief, relief at finally telling someone. He hadn't even told the Warlock, because he had been trying to go all honest and shit. "I could take anything, you know, but I don't know if I could take that."

"Come on," John had said after a moment's consideration, getting up and grabbing Matt by the wrist as he past. Matt had allowed himself to be tugged out of his seat and into the living room, where a large couch sat in regal solitary splendour. John had taken a seat at one end, quirking an eyebrow at Matt, who had sat down beside him gingerly. "No, like this," John had murmured, and grasped him by the shoulders, turning him around firmly and pulling him down so that Matt was sprawled out with his head in John's lap.

Matt had lain there for a long time, too surprised to focus on anything else but the warmth of John's lap and the fact that he was actually _lying_ there, looking up into John's craggy features with wide eyes. John had smirked down at him.

"Close your eyes, kid, and talk."

"Ok." Matt had taken a deep breath. "Wait. Cain?"

"Yes, Engineer Farrell."

"Shut off your audio monitoring, please."

"Audio function disabled."

"The reason we could have built those suits so fast," Matt had admitted in a whisper, finally, after all these months, "is because I stole the base design from the Stark main computers."

The silence had stretched out between them, and Matt's heart had hammered in his chest. He had actually _sworn_ to John that he had been done with all that; the Fire Sale had been a shocking wake-up call, and he didn't want to do stuff like that again. He'd test systems, he'd do interface technology, that was what he had done in college, and he'd just stop the hacking shit. But the government had caught him kind of neatly, some agents snagging him one day as he had been shopping for groceries for John's apartment and ushering him to their version of a job interview.

"It was either that or a federal prison, you know? They'd charge me for my involvement in the Fire Sale. That's what they said, _my involvement_." Matt kept his eyes closed. "I mean, I could have told them to fuck off, but they said I'd be kept on the project to continue the interface development. But first, all I had to do was hack into the Stark mainframe, lift the base info. Give the Central project a push."

He felt John shift, and tensed himself. Probably John was going to roll him off onto the floor or something. Instead, he felt fingers stroke into his hair, and he let out a sigh.

"But you added stuff," John said, his tone deliberately flat.

"Yeah. _Our_ suits kind of hack into the human brain. The government wants more control over the suit and the users. They want to build an iron army... not iron individuals." He let the silence spin around them again, before hesitantly breaking it once more. "I just... I didn't want to tell you. I'm seriously glad I did, though. I mean... Fuck, I'd never thought I'd see the day when I was all busted up inside for _hacking_, you know? I guess 'cause I promised you, and all. And then, all that work after, with the suits and shit... I'm sure me and Jack could have come up with our own designs, if they'd given us the time. We actually did good with what we had, in any case. And you know the system. Always in a hurry."

John made a noncommital sound and then asked: "Does Jack know? About you hacking into the Stark computers?"

"I don't know, maybe. He'd ask me a couple of times, but I guess he might suspect. He stopped asking after awhile." Matt gave a wry grin. "He's not as persistent as his sister, apparently."

"Apparently."

"Are you disappointed?" Matt asked slowly, astonished at how small his voice came out.

"A little. I'm an ex-cop, I'm supposed to be disappointed. Actually, I'm a bit impressed, kid."

Matt had opened his eyes again, blinking up at John's face. A thought had flashed through his mind, that it was the nicest face in the entire world. "_Impressed_?"

John's mouth had twitched very slightly, but the corners of his eyes had been crinkled in amusement. "I don't know much about computers, but I might have an idea about one thing: those Stark computers must be a fucking _fortress_."

Matt stared up at him and then gave a very shocked snort of laughter. "Yeah. Yeah, they were. I nearly got caught a couple times, but I snuck in and snuck out real quick."

"Good thing you're good at being a bad hackboy, or else you'd be sitting around in a nice square room with some bars on the windows." John continued to card his fingers through Matt's hair. Matt wanted to fucking _purr_. "And... and the suits are different from the originals. I guess."

Matt had smiled up at him. He had lain there and just looked up at John's face, memorizing it, and it was a good thing he had, because it had a day or so after, he and a bunch of other engineers had gone for a day-trip down to the nearest town, a small, sleepy place an hour's drive away from Central's compound, and it had been there that he had been grabbed by the Wheelchair Man's henchmen.

*

Now here he was, trying to fix John's lopsided smirk in his mind, even as he was losing hope of ever being found.

His screen suddenly went blank. Matt blinked at it, so exhausted that his brain didn't go into the usual panic when work he had been doing was gobbled up by a power surge. In another second, it came back on, the edges of the display flickering warily.

"Problem?" Mr. Submachine asked, stepping forward, hands tight around his gun. Suddenly, Matt, whose body was screaming with exhaustion, dived beneath the sturdy desk, huddling there... because on his screen there were simply three words in a massive font: **GET DOWN, KID**.

His little cell exploded around him.

*

There was a lot of screaming and gunshots after that first explosion. Most of the screaming was done by Matt himself, who curled himself into a tight ball, tucked in as close to the wall as he could and yelled hoarsely against his drawn-up knees. Mr. Submachine had ran out into the hall and began spraying gunshots, and there was a chittering sound, as if the bullets were striking a metal plate, or something. Matt kept his face down as the weapon suddenly stopped and the guard gave a strangled yell; there was a massive thump right beside Matt.

He peeked out.

The guard was lying face down on the ground beside his desk, his body limp.

"Oh, shit," Matt whispered and then a large metal leg clumped down right in front of him. Matt stared at it, barely registering that the gunshots and yelling continued, but further away, in other rooms. He looked up slowly, his eyes widening as he looked up into the face of an iron man.

To be exact, it was _the_ Iron Man.

"You must be Matthew Farrell," Iron Man said conversationally, as if they were in a bar somewhere having drinks. The power unit on his chest was almost blinding. "You might have heard about me, I'm Iron Man? I thought I'd be kicking your ass for stealing my stuff, but I got to hand it to you, you stole them real good. Seriously."

"Uh," Matt offered.

"Wow, let's hope they didn't knock your brains around too bad. Hey, I think we should get a move on, your friend McClane is probably out there killing some bad guys. We don't want him to kill anyone right now."

"He's really good at killing the bad guys," Matt said inanely and Iron Man nodded, grabbing onto Matt's arm as he tried to stand up, swaying weakly.

"Oh, yeah. I can see that. Especially since they had his kid as well."

_They got Jack, too?_ Matt thought and said out loud, "You know, I really think we need to hurry."

Iron Man went in front of him, raising his hand now and again to release a blast at some guard or other. Matt clapped his hands over his ears as he scuttled in his wake. His feet were bare, and they were being bruised on the debris littering the ground, but that went out of his mind as they came to a large, low-ceilinged room where a long line of nearly complete metal suits hung against the wall. Matt saw something flash overhead and gaped as Suit Two landed smoothly in front of them.

"Oh, man, Matt!" Ducks exclaimed. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I am now! Where's McClane?"

There was a massive blast to their left, and Suit Three came striding in through the hole it had made. Jack was running out after him with a couple of other haggard-looking people dressed in tattered lab-coats, but his eyes were bright in his gaunt face, and Matt had an idea that Jack was having himself a little fun. As a matter of fact, Jack was lugging around an arm mechanism, pointing the weaponry end of it in all directions like a small child playing cops and robbers.

"McClane!" Matt yelled.

"_What_?" Both John and Jack answered, in the same pissed-off tone, turning to look in Matt's direction.

"Oh, _him_," Jack said with an annoyed sigh as Suit Three broke out into a run, and Matt was staggering over to him, and then he was being swept up into those powerful metal arms... but they weren't hurting at all.

John's helmet was retracting and he was pressing his warm, wonderful mouth against Matt's cheek and muttering, "Shit, I'm fucking _glad_ to see you're alive."

"Well!" Iron Man exclaimed. "That's... that's nice, that really is, but we have some more folks to dispatch with, don't you think?"

"Keep your pants on," McClane told him shortly, but he released Matt and set him on the ground. "You alright?"

"Yeah." Matt felt breathless and ecstatic, watching as the metal helmet slid over John's face again.

"Pretty slick of you, kid, worming your way back into the Stark mainframe to send that message. You had Stark here hopping mad for a couple of days, until he realized he'd probably be better off hiring you. After he helped me with a little rescue, you know?"

"There's a man in a wheelchair," Matt blurted, feeling too happy and relieved and confused to process all of this at once. "A man in a wheelchair, he's their leader or something."

"We're on it, sweetheart," Ducks said warmly.

"I'd like to shoot the bastard," Jack said very seriously. "I'm all prepared, you guys."

"You keep your ass quiet, Jack McClane," someone said and Matt felt as if his eyes couldn't get any bigger when Suit One came through the hole in the wall. Who the fuck was wearing Suit One?

"Burnie," Jack breathed, and tossed away his makeshift gun, scrambling towards Suit One as Burnie's face was revealed. His face looked pallid, the flushed skin over his cheeks the only bright slash of colour in his face and Matt realized that the suit probably wasn't calibrated properly for him. He wasn't even supposed to be in it at all. And yet he had climbed into it and he had come for Jack.

"I mean, all this love," Iron Man was saying with a trace of sarcasm. "Just... makes me feel all lonely. But not really."

"That's because you're a dick," Ducks observed.

"You might have a point."

"It's gonna be okay now, Matt," John said to him and Matt nodded, believing McClane wholeheartedly, just because it was _John_, loving the way he put out a powerful metal hand and touched him gently on his jaw. "It's gonna be okay."

_I don't know if I believe in God or anything_, Matt thought._But. They heard me calling. And they sent for John. So, thanks, Whoever, for that_.

* * *

**Epilogue. "Saving victims from the wreckage of our wild affairs, such wild affairs..."**

John came fully awake as soon as Matt moved, reaching over him to fumble at the cell-phone that was buzzing on the night-table. Something fell off while he was grabbing at it, maybe his glasses, or Matt's.

"What is it," John muttered. Matt's face was lit up by the glowing display of the phone, peering owlishly at whatever message had been sent to that devious device. "Don't tell me it's Stark."

"Ok, I won't," Matt said in a sleepy voice, sitting up and stretching.

"Doesn't that man sleep?" John reached up and grabbed him by the shoulder, pulling him back down. Matt immediately tossed the phone to the foot of the bed, snuggling close without a contrary word. "Fuck, he's like a mad scientist."

"Yeah, that's exactly it." Matt arched against him experimentally and John gathered him close, feeling his cock twitch weakly in anticipation. Shit, they had been entwined with each other just a few hours ago, all slick skin and roaming hands and exploring mouths. John wasn't sure if he was up for another going another round… or maybe he _was_.

"I don't even know how that assistant of his stands him." John's hand stroked down that slight dip of Matt's spine, loving the smooth feel. He trailed his hand back up to Matt's head, feeling the fine strands shift through his fingers.

"Who, Pepper?" Matt tilted his head a little, and John obligingly traced a path down the side of his neck. "Pepper is cool, man. No matter how much Tony wants try and run rings around her, she knows when he's being an asshole. Which is nearly all the time, but whatever." He pressed his hips forwards as he snickered, and John could feel his cock thickening against his thigh.

"Hmm." John pulled away from him, ignoring the disappointed noises Matt made and his grabby hands. He'd be making different sounds soon enough.

"Oh yeah, Tony said to tell you that the next time you drove that tin-can you called a car onto the Stark Industries complex, he's going to blow it up." Matt went up on his elbows, watching as John pushed the sheets down and moved over him to settle between his legs. "Hey, what--"

"Tell Stark," John said softly, grasping Matt's legs and pushing them up and apart, "that if he touches Old Jess, I'm gonna kick his head in."

He bent his head and licked a long, lazy stripe along Matt's inner thigh. Matt moaned, his legs eagerly shifting apart. John inhaled that musky scent of him, and licked the other leg, before shifting down to mouth teasingly at the underside of Matt's cock.

"Oh, fuck." Matt's voice was tiny and breathless and delighted, all at the same time. "I never…. _ooohh_, I never thought you'd be, _oh, oh shit_, so good at this."

"Practice," John told him before suckling at the flushed head of his cock, and Matt's hips tilted greedily, moving up and down in slight thrusts. John pulled off, and licked his lips. "Be quiet. Don't let Jack hear."

Jack was in the guest bedroom, right next to this one. He had been spending time in John's apartment, wanting to be close to Burnie as he was getting physical therapy in New York, for some of the slight damage to his body he had endured while stubbornly wearing Suit One.

"He was such an idiot to put it on in the first place!" Jack would complain loudly to anyone who'd listen… but anyone with eyes in their head could see the way his eyes shone with pride. "I mean, for fuck's sake!"

Matt nodded quickly, biting his bottom lip for good measure, and John went down on him again. Matt made a strangled groan, and kept rocking his hips in that tiny, needy action that was getting John just as hard again. He reached down between his own legs and curled one hand around his cock, stroking languorously, even as his other hand was placed on Matt's hip, pinning him down a little.

He felt a weird kind of throbbing near him, and it wasn't in his mouth. He turned his head a little to look at Matt's phone as it vibrated again in the sheets beside him and he blinked as Tony Stark's face appeared on the screen.

"Matt!" Tony yelled, and made an irritable gesture at something off to the side. "Stop that, stupid robot, I'm trying to make a call. Matt! Wake up, you need to give me some algorithms, and I wanted them _yesterday_. You think I can't do those algorithms? I can, you shithead, I just wanted _you_ to do them, since you fucking work for me. Remember I kind of saved your life, you owe me forever. So, I don't know if you're with that old geezer of yours, but--"

He cut off, because John had slid his mouth off Matt's cock again (ignoring Matt's weak pleas to just ignore the fucking asshole, he'd give him his stupid algorithms in the morning), reached out for the phone and pressed the _answer_ button. He had moved so that Stark wouldn't be able to see most of the long, nude planes of Matt's body, but he could probably see a knee or something, and would get the general idea.

"Hello, Stark," John said in his best raspy voice. "It's the old geezer here."

"McClane." Stark peered at him, and then blinked. "I see you're busy."

"Yeah, just a little."

"Hmm. Well, tell Matt that I want my algorithms and I want them ASAP. Just… go back to whatever you were doing. I don't want to know, you just keep on trucking."

"Thanks," John said dryly. "And Stark, I kind of saved his life first. So he owes _me_ forever, you know?"

Stark wrinkled his nose and made an impatient shooing motion. "Spare me the details, McClane. Matt, I can see your leg from here. Better enjoy yourself now, but I want all my calculations tomorrow, eight a.m. sharp."

He disconnected the call and John stared at the blank screen, then shook his head.

"Pushy jerkoff."

"Yeah, but I'm used to it." Matt grinned down at him. "Hey, I saved your life once or twice, you owe me, too."

"Yeah, yeah," John muttered, going back to his former task. "You can extract the fucking payment later."

_FIN_


End file.
